


Appear

by betweenclouds



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Secret Garden (TV)
Genre: AU, Basically everyone but Mulan and Belle are insufferable and entitled rich kids, Basically everyone is a little shit at first, Emma and Aurora are cousins, Emma is a lovesick player, Emma's a famous singer, Except for the person that switches their bodies, F/F, Maleficent is an evil conniving little cow, Mary Margaret and David are not Emma's parents, Mulan and Belle are BFFs, Mulan puts up with no one's shit, Nobody actually has magic, Probably an excessive amount of cussing, Regina is just a bitch and not actually evil, Some Aurora/Regina I guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 11:37:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betweenclouds/pseuds/betweenclouds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leading two different lives, a department store CEO and a stuntwoman meet because of a case of mistaken identity, the latter of whom leaves such an impression on the former that she can't get her off of her mind - especially when they wake up one day in each other's body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Appear

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so should most definitely be working on other things (namely Ayurnamat or the million one shots I've started writing) but during some down time I started watching one of my favorite dramas again and got the urge to write it out for one of the things I shipped. There was really no surprise that it ended up being sleeping warrior, though it was almost a red beauty fic. But I thought I'd try and give Aurora and Mulan a romcom-esque type of story. This is probably going to end up obnoxiously long and possibly slow going compared to others, mostly because it doesn't just concentrate on Mulan and Aurora: it follows Belle and Emma and a few other characters along the way. The other chapters will post likely be roughly as long as this one, but if the length bothers too many people I will attempt to break them down to create more chapters, instead. As it is right now, there will be at least twenty chapters.

_“Do you know what an Indian summer is? It’s the little bit of summer that comes at the end of fall, right before the coldness of winter.”_  

Aurora walked around the upper room of her house, picking up the dresses and straightening up her vanity in an effort to clean up the mess she had made only moments before. She spaced the hangers in her closet out evenly, fixed the angle of her perfume bottle, and fluffed her left pillow a little more. She did a slow trek around the room, double-checking for any imperfections. The sounds of the weather lady speaking on the television floated up the stairs, giving her some background noise with which to start her day.

_“During that little bit of summer, the Indians would hunt for the winter. So that’s why they call the Indian Summer a gift from god.”_

She snorted as she made her way down the stairs, smoothing out her lavender dress. She highly doubted the Indians—or Native Americans, rather—considered it a gift from god, seeing as they didn’t really have one, let alone  _only_ one. Unless the weather lady was referring to _actual_ Indians, and even then she doubted the veracity of the statement, if not more so.  

_“This fall’s Indian summer is supposed to be accompanied by quite a lot of rain. If it does rain, we might be getting a gift from God, don’t you think?”_

The only thing Aurora would consider a gift at that moment would be to no longer hear such inanity from the television, so she scooped up the remote the moment she was within reach.

_“But whether it is a gift from the gods or a joke, we’ll have to see.”_ The lady on the television turned just then, her eyes boring in Aurora’s.  _“Won’t we, Miss Aurora Ryan?”_

She froze, staring hard at the screen, but the program was going on as usual as it panned over to the two news anchors. She looked around her house as if she were going to see someone else there, snickering behind his or her hand at having freaked her out. Instead a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder made her squeak and the remote went flying onto the floor, clattering in such a way that made her heart beat even quicker. Thoroughly freaked out, she lunged for the remote, turned off the television, and high tailed it out of her house and into her car. 

As she drove her nerves calmed, but it wasn’t until she rounded the bend and saw her cousin making out with her latest conquest that she truly relaxed—some things, it seemed, never changed. She stopped her car and stared for a bit, stuck in between amused at Emma’s antics and offended on the other person’s behalf.  

Slowly, Emma cracked open an eye and stared back at her, not even pausing the movement of her mouth as she waved tauntingly. With a huff and a quick glance down at the time, Aurora applied pressure to the gas and roared by. 

The subsequent updraft lifted the skirt of Emma’s latest catch, and she tore away from her lips, shoving the offending article back down. 

“Who was that?” Tamara yelped, look back over at Emma once it was under control.  

“Oh, her?” Emma asked, eyes on the retreating vehicle. She used the back of her hand to wipe away the wetness surrounding her mouth. “She’s my cousin, kind of. More like a pain in my ass.” She smiled ruefully at that, turning back to see the inquisitive look on Tamara’s face. “If I buy a sports car, she has to buy a sports car  _store_ ; if I buy a yacht, she would buy the land around that dock just so she can feel satisfied with herself.” She chuckled a little at that and then stretched, arms going wide as she groaned.  “Basically, even when you yell ‘You bitch!’ to me later, one would say she is a hundred times more evil.”

“What?” Tamara asked, eyebrows furrowed. “What about later? What are you talking about?”

Emma smiled pityingly and reached out the pinch her cheeks. “Oh, Tamara. Did I beat around the bush too much for you to understand me? I’m saying we shouldn’t meet again. I don’t want to see you anymore.” Her charming smile contradicted the harsh words.

“What? Then what exactly was that kiss you did before?”

“A goodbye kiss. I want to remain in your memories”—she kissed the open air between them—“as a sweet woman to the end.”

“Hey!” Tamara shouted, shoving Emma back. “You bitch!”  

 

* * *

 

Aurora walked down the middle of the hall, ignoring all who had to move out of her way and their glares and murmurs. They were all irrelevant to someone like her, little ants that lived in the world she and others like her owned. In her mind, she could still hear her mother’s voice as she explained whom, exactly, her blind date was. All she could really think of was that she was thrilled that she no longer had to suffer through blind dates with  _guys_ , that her mother finally relented and tried to set her up with eligible females, instead. 

_“Her mother was a government official and now runs the hotels her husband left behind when he died. She studied overseas and came back to direct; she’s currently working on doing commercials.”_

She looked down the rest of the hall and saw her date staring at a portrait on the wall and trying her hardest to act like she hadn’t already seen Aurora. As she walked closer, Regina turned around coyly, putting on a surprised smile.

“Miss Mills,” Aurora greeted courteously with small nod. Together they started off through the exhibit, walking side by side without trading any words.

Regina frowned, no longer being able to take the silence, and looked around for something to start a conversation. She smiled as she saw one of the posters and then quickly hid it.

“You must like Édouard Manet,” she intoned in such an absentminded way that it had to be feigned. “We must be the only couple on a date at an art museum.”

“I do it so I don’t waste time,” Aurora grumbled. 

“What do you mean?”

“The way you walk and how far away that is shows your personality type, the way you look at art shows your intelligence level and how you view culture.” Just because she was glad she no longer at to suffer through some male her mother threw at her didn’t mean that she suddenly came to enjoy these arranged dates. “Whether you would go to an art museum or a club on a late night.” Aurora paused, leaning in suddenly as Regina shrank at the close proximity. “And whether your taste in perfume is alluring or refined are all answered quickly.” She straightened up and continued walking, leaving Regina to catch up. “Would you like something to drink?”  

Regina stared at Aurora’s back, absolutely stupefied. She fought hard against the urge to raise her wrist to her nose and smell. Without noticing, she began to lift her arm, but she returned it quickly to her side and a huff. “Is my perfume overwhelming?” She wondered as she began her attempt to lessen the distance between them. 

They were seated immediately in the cafe area at a little table just big enough for a tea tray—not that they bothered with that of course, both knowing the date was failing, one attempting to salvage it and the other not caring enough to even try. Every attempt at a conversation was quickly destroyed, though, leaving Regina to flounder until she essentially gave up and presented an easy way out. 

“You can leave if this is an uncomfortable situation for you,” she offered civilly, giving a slight smile. “Both of our elders are—”

“Is this an uncomfortable situation?” Aurora interrupted, leaning forward and bracing her forearms on the table. It was the most interested she’d looked their entire date and, considering the fairly stoic expression on her face, that was saying something.

“Is it not?” Regina shot back. “As much as we have in status, there are some things we have to give up. However, I’m not interested in marriage without love. I’m too hot-blooded to live as an obedient girl who only follows what her parents want for her to do.”

“So you don’t want an arranged marriage?” 

“Right.” Regina nodded and looked away, trying not to smile at having finally broken through a bit of that armor in which Aurora stayed nestled.

“Why?”

Regina turned her head back, surprise coloring her features. “What?” What sort of question was that? Unless, of course, it was a test, in which obviously she should defend her stance which would make Aurora fall hopelessly in love with her and— 

“Love—I suppose there are some who find it important, but just because of some stupid hormones, should we ignore status, background, education, and abilities?  Being able to communicate smoothly? Do you think it’s justifiable to substitute kissing for all of that?” Regina opened her mouth to respond but was cut off before she had the chance. “You’re more naïve than you look. If you’re the hot-blooded type that chooses the village idiot over royalty, then I’ll pass.” Aurora grabbed her teacup and finished the small amount of liquid she had left, Regina too stunned to do anything but sit there. “Shall I tell my family I was dumped?” The small noise Regina made was taken as confirmation. “Then let’s make that our story.” 

Aurora stood up, not even bothering to wait as she began to walk away whilst smoothing her dress out for any wrinkles. She paused and turned back, Regina looking almost hopeful until, with a flat voice, Aurora said, “The Édouard Manet exhibition is next month.”

She turned and left, leaving Regina to nurse her tea and feel the fool.

 

* * *

 

 “Really?”

“Yeah,” Regina whined to Kathryn. “She’s the first person who hasn’t fallen for my ‘modern woman’ act. She just left really coldly.” She paused and smiled, all teeth. “Looking  _very_ attractive from the back, mind you.”

“So you’re saying that you got dumped,” Kathryn put in bluntly, glancing down at her nails.  

“I’m saying that I’ve finally found a connection,” Regina corrected, leaning back against the plush cushion behind her.

“That’s worrisome even if the two of you date. If she finds out about you and you-know-who…” The blonde took in the room, glancing at every person sitting at every table drinking coffee, relaxing in one of the chairs. 

“Do you want her to know?” Regina asked sharply. “Do you think she would come meet me if she knew?” She sighed and raised her hands to rub her temples. She really needed new friends. “Drink your tea.”

Kathryn faked a smile as she raised her cup to her lips. “Amongst the department stores’ VIP lounges, I like this one the best.” She stared longingly at the cup in her hands as she attempted to change the topic to safer waters. “Even its coffee cups are different. It’s that expensive.” 

“Gold digger,” Regina sneered, repeating the word in a much the same tone when her counterpart nearly spit out her tea in shock. So much for a safer topic.  

Kathryn looked around, a little uncomfortable before her spine straightened and she glared. “If I’m a gold digger, than what are you?"

“Me? I’m an heiress,” she replied, sounding all the world as if she believed it. She glanced around haughtily at the other patrons. “How can they just act like rich kids in public? They should _wear_ designer clothes, not bury themselves in it.” 

Kathryn looked down at her outfit self-consciously, gazing at the pearls adorning her neck, her wrist, the rings on her fingers. 

“Oh my, and what’s her deal?”

Kathryn glanced up, confused. What had she missed? “Who?” 

She followed Regina’s line of sight to see the latest person sauntering—more like swaggering—in. She definitely did not belong there. Old headphones covered her ears and held down a ratty hat that seemed out of place in the rest of her outfit: a (probably faux) leather jacket on top of a white shirt, snug black pants, and a red flannel shirt tied around her waist. What’s up with her, indeed. She sat down, barely looking at anyone, and promptly removed her jacket, revealing a dragon tattoo on her right bicep that ripped a gasp from Kathryn. 

“Oh my goodness!” 

All around her, people in the room traded glances, some snickering, some too affronted to find amusement in how out of place the woman was.

“It’s a dragon, too!” Kathryn was in too much a state of shock to care that she was getting out of control. She turned her head toward another table and pointed. “Miss! Don’t let your baby see it!”

Regina’s mouth pushed her mouth into a firm line and stood, staring down the intruder sitting obliviously with her arms crossed and legs apart.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Kathryn asked, standing to join her. 

“In a short time, I’m going to be the wife of the owner,” Regina replied. “Am I supposed to just watch this place turn into a supermarket over night? As the future lady of this house, shouldn’t I teach her a lesson?” The question was obviously considered rhetorical, as she spun immediately and began walking over, leaving the attempts to bring her back dying on Kathryn’s lips as she tried not to bring too much attention to them.  

“Here.” Regina raised a finger and beckoned one of the workers over. 

Belle quickly appeared, bearing coffee on a tray that she set down in front of the offensive  _being_ encroaching on territory not quite belonging to Regina, but was still certainly not  _hers_. She didn’t miss the small smile the worker traded with her. 

“Do you need anything, ma’am?” Belle inquired politely, all smiles. 

“Since when did admission standards for this lounge become so loose?” Regina demanded hotly. Belle quickly lost her smile. “Isn’t this place only for customers who spend more than a hundred thousand dollars annually? Did you check her identification when she came in?”

Mulan looked up for the first time when she heard the jab at her, her jaw clenching in offense. 

“Of course, ma’am,” Belle quickly put in, trying to smile reassuringly.

“You’re a  _liar_ ,” Regina snarled. “You didn’t check mine when I came in.”

“Well, you’re a regular and everyone knows who you are,” Belle insisted. 

Mulan sighed and stood, trying to save her friend the trouble. “I think she’s talking about me. Give me the keys.” As Belle rummaged in her pockets for their house key, Mulan turned to Regina. “You don’t have to attack an innocent person, I was on my way out.” She looked back at Belle and delicately took the keys from her hand. “Thanks for the coffee, I’ll see you later.” She was on her way out when Regina’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

“We were the ones who spent money but someone else got free coffee. What is your name?”

Belle flushed and tried to cover her nametag before she realized it was pointless and lowered her hand. “Ma’am, I’m sorry,” she tried. “I’m really sorry.” Regina paid her no heed, instead reaching out and ripping the tag through her uniform and brushing past her and the fuming Mulan. 

Mulan stepped forward, but was stopped by a hand on her arm.

“Where are you going?” Belle asked desperately and spun her around. “We have bad luck this year! According to the fortune teller, we will have all sorts of bad luck, so we have to be careful.”

She snorted. “Since when do you care about fortunes?”

“Since you wanted to get back in touch with your culture and I decided to be a wonderful friend and support you in every way,” Belle retorted.

“I have to get your name tag back,” Mulan reminded her, turning back around.

“Don’t cause more trouble,” Belle supplicated. “I just have to apologize and plead for leniency; I’ll probably only get yelled at a little. ”

“Why do we have to be cursed? Why do we always have to be sorry? You shouldn’t have to plead for anything.”

Belle sighed, but only let her go because she was sure that good-for-nothing nametag stealer was already gone. 

 

+

 

Mulan pushed open the door to outside carefully, not wanting to disrespect the building and those who built it by taking out her rage on it. If Belle had just let her go, or if she hadn’t been running late that morning, none of it would have happened or at least could have been rectified. She sighed as she made her way over to her bike. Was it really right to blame it on her best friend? It wasn’t her fault that only her alarm went off, not Belle’s; really it was the fault of the shoddy electricity in the building.

She glanced to the left as she grabbed her bike, prepared to get on, but there in all her self-righteous and bitchy glory was the person who had most certainly made a big deal out of nothing.  

She felt her anger burn hot within her once more. Leaving her bike, she stuffed her hands in her pockets and marched over, Regina’s eyes growing large when she was seen. 

Except, suddenly, a person ran through their small group and everyone was jostled—one more so than the others when the person ran off with her bag.  

“What do I do?” The hysterical blonde screamed, jumping up and down like  _that_ would somehow bring back her bag. She kept repeating the question, growing louder and louder, unmindful of the woman next to her holding a baby whose wails added to the cacophony. “Do you know how much that cost?!” 

Mulan groaned, stuck between doing the right thing and craving vengeance. She looked over at the man running away, watched as a van pulled up with a screech and drove away with him in it. Fucking karma.

“I must have really bad luck,” she muttered. She glanced at the blonde and her companions, hoping to convey to them that they should stay—not that they were really paying attention to her at all. She ran over to her bike, kicking the stand up with barely a pause her stride, and ran alongside it for a few steps before she had gotten enough momentum to jump on and give the get away van chase.

She jumped curb after curb, ringing the little bell on her handle to warn people out of the way. She kept as good of an eye on the van as she could, even going so far as to ride down a set of people-riddled, concrete stairs when it turned perpendicular to her. 

She was grateful she knew the roads so well when they went down one too overrun with cars to follow. She stayed parallel to them on a different road, using the gaps in between buildings to keep track of it as she went.

Ahead of her, two guys lifted a bookcase in the most obnoxious, difficult way they could, leaving her to only hope her skills wouldn’t leave her as she jumped the wooden structure without pause. She ignored their outraged yells that questioned her sanity, and merely pedaled faster, having lost some speed in the air.

And there—finally there it was, just ahead of her, tires squealing as it took turns too quickly and avoided cars that had the right of way. She cut to the side, shooting across the pavement they would have to turn to go around. The van almost hit a red truck that stopped just ahead of her that she managed to jump and—she was suddenly very glad that she had done stunts like this before, or else she would be in a heap of trouble and there was no way she’d get that purse back, which was probably the only way to get that snob to return Belle’s name tag. 

She cut across a grassy section, jumped a few more curbs, and then the van made a mistake: it drove off of the road and into a crowd of people that desperately tried to get out of the way quick enough. The driver was forced to slow down, giving Mulan just enough time to slide her bike to a halt in front of them.

She tried to control her breathing as four guys climbed out and stared her down. Sweat clung to her hair and trailed lightly down her temple as she waited to see who would make the mistake of moving first. She wished she had verbally told the women to wait, fearing all the exertion would be all for naught.

One ran toward her and then, just like that, it became just another stunt. She threw her bike at him and ducked another’s kick, using his own momentum to punch him hard enough that he fell over onto the ground. One of them grabbed her arm, but it was so slick with sweat that she was able to pull out of it with relative ease. His hand came away black, having smeared her make-up artist made tattoo. She kicked out his knee with barely a hint of remorse, even when he cried out in pain. She knocked the second guy back down with a punch that broke his nose, elbowed another in his stomach and sent him to the ground when her palm connected viciously with his nose.

The guy into whom she threw the bike rushed her with a punch that she easily ducked, hooking her elbow into his and putting her hand on the back of his neck. She used it to hold him still as she kneed him over and over again in the stomach until she let go and spun them both to face each other, hitting him hard in the sternum with the heel of her hand and then throwing him against the hood of the van. He slid slowly to the ground as she looked around at the others around them, daring them to try and get up—which not one of them seemed to take, to her satisfaction.

 

+ 

 

Kathryn used the tissue in her hand to dab at the tears falling from her eyes. 

“I was just holding my bag and some robber came by and took it from me!” She cried to the police officers.

A few steps away, Regina sighed, fed up with her friend’s hysterical whining. “Must you find it?” She asked, turning around with a pointed glare. “Where is that bag from?” If she had to buy her a new one just to get her to shut up, it was most definitely worth it.

“It’s imported,” a voice said, hard footsteps and somewhat rapid breathing following. Mulan held out the bag she had taken from the van. “This is it, right?”

Stunned, Kathryn just nodded, but Regina was having none of that. She snatched the purse and hit Kathryn in the chest with it, holding it still until she had taken possession. 

“Make sure nothing’s missing.” 

Mulan felt her anger resurfacing. That  _bitch_. “Since I got your friend’s bag from her, let’s pretend nothing happened in the lobby before. Please give me the name tag.” Mad though she was, she refused to be rude, especially not when it could potentially exacerbate the issue.

Regina scoffed. “I don’t have it.”  

Mulan wanted nothing more than to knock the self-righteous smirk off of her face.

“You sure?” 

“I threw it away.” 

Mulan inhaled sharply and repeated her earlier sentiment with more mental vehemence. That  _bitch_. Who did she think she was? 

“You threw it away?” It took all of her effort not to yell, and she was sure it showed.

“If you check the trashcan just inside the entrance—”

She stepped up and grabbed Regina by the collar, bring their faces close together. 

“Oh, excuse me!” Kathryn yelped, trying to save her friend. The officers looked on, unsure whether or not they should intervene.

“ _Which_ trashcan? Someone who spends a hundred thousand dollars at a department store and someone who gets a cup of coffee from her friend will both think a garbage can is dirty. The one who threw it away should retrieve it,” Mulan snarled.

“Move away.” Regina’s voice was shaky, unused to be handled in such a way. “I’m not inflexible. Let’s pretend it never happened.” She pushed at Mulan’s hands, trying to get her to let go.

“It’s too late for that. I’m not very flexible.”

She dragged her back into the store by the collar of her shirt, the police looking on with interest but no desire to stop them. Behind them, Kathryn followed, shouting at her to let go. Mulan complied once inside, and lightly pushed Regina toward the trashcan before crossing her arms.

“Find it,” she commanded.

“This isn’t the trashcan,” Regina pleaded, pointing at the offending waste receptacle. 

Mulan snorted. “That’s why I told you to find it to see if it’s true or not.”

Regina scoffed and looked away, before she sighed and lifted her purse, opening it to dig through and find the nametag she most certainly hadn’t thrown away. She held it out to her like it was the most disgusting thing she had ever had to touch. “That’s enough, okay?” Mulan just stood there, looking between her and the nametag. Regina shifted her weight. “Take it so I can leave.” 

Mulan looked over at Kathryn and grabbed her tissue. “You’re going to throw this away, right?” She grabbed Regina purse and put it in there; if she wanted to pretend her purse was a trashcan, so was Mulan. 

“Are you crazy? What are you doing?” Regina yelped, snatching back her bag. 

“Because apparently that’s a garbage can.” She grabbed the nametag from her hand and walked out, leaving Regina to fume and stare after her. 

“What kind of person is she?!” Regina shouted after her, not even caring that the door had already swung shut.

“I know,” Kathryn replied absentmindedly, her tone as awestricken as her features. “How can there be such a cool woman?” She sighed dreamily. “What do you think she does for a living?”

Regina stormed away, her back ramrod straight. 

 

* * *

 

Mulan sat atop the cathedral’s roof, back resting against the cross adorning the narrow point. She looked around at the illuminated city surrounding her, breathing in the cool night air. Slowly she stood and pulled her guns from their twin holsters. Down in the building below her, she knew there were people and, more importantly, a man tied up and bloody that she knew she must save. With one fortifying breath, the wind whipping at her hair, she fell forward into empty air. 

She fell five stories down before she stretched her guns out and shot at the glass in the building’s ceiling. It splintered and she followed it down, awkwardly grabbing onto a bit of rope to slow her descent as she touched down on a scaffolding. 

She had barely landed before the first person ran to attack her. 

She spun her gun around and shot twice into his chest, leaning back to avoid the large knife he had thrown at her. As more people converged on her, she fired more bullets; most hit their targets while others hit the shaky structure around them. The scaffolding made a _crack_ beneath her, and so she jumped, flipping down to land in the middle of the remaining enemies as the boards snapped in half.

They all stood still, measuring each other up. She was the only one with guns, the rest wielding knives almost long enough to be called swords. Two more beats and she moved first, firing the remaining two bullets she had in each gun into four different people. She threw her guns at someone, knocking him down as she drew her sword from her back scabbard, turning and flipping away to regain some room as she parried attack after attack. 

Finally regaining her balance, she parried one sword, ducked under another whose owner was quickly cut across the stomach, and ran her sword through someone else. She turned the person skewered against her and kicked him into the closest person. She twirled quickly, sword out, slicing some people and parrying the weapons of others. She kicked and weaved and blocked and swung until there was just one. 

He had been hiding behind a pillar at her back, biding his time as she systematically took out the rest of his men. With a shout he gave away his position and rushed her, jumping into the air to deliver a hard, fatal strike she would be unable to block. 

Mulan turned and looked up at him, sweat falling into her eyes and momentarily blinding her. She threw herself quickly to the side, narrowly avoiding his sword. She scrambled back up and rushed him, moving to the side to avoid his thrust and using his momentum to stab her sword into him. 

She stood amongst the carnage as he took his last breath, pulling her sword clean and using his own shirt to clear off the blood. Dark brown hair stuck to her face, matted against it by sweat.

On the monitor, Tamara turned around, her harsh expression more victorious than sad at having taken so many lives. 

“And cut!” The director yelled, and suddenly the set was a flurry of movement. 

“Ah, I’m so tired,” Tamara whined, walking toward the monitors. Mulan rolled her eyes from the crowd behind the monitors and took another drink of her water. “Rumpel, did I come out cool?” 

“Why would you be cool? You have to be pretty!” He said in that high-pitched voice of his. “Actresses don’t need anything else; looking pretty is all.”

Mulan sighed quietly and walked away, trying to find a towel to wipe off some of the sweat coating her body. She ignored the surely ridiculous response that was sure to follow the director’s ‘genius’.

“Mulan!” She turned and caught sight of a familiar tech, his proud smile contagious. “Good job! You looked really cool today!”

“Thank you!” She exclaimed, bowing a little in respect and gratitude. He walked away to continue his job as she remained in the same spot, arms behind her back and toe bouncing on the floor as she smiled shyly at the ground. She  _never_ got complimented, especially not when Tamara was in the same room. Slowly, she turned a little to return to her attempt in finding a towel, but she was knocked to the side when Tamara purposefully bumped into her.

“Wearing the same clothes and makeup as me doesn’t mean you’re a star; you’re just a stuntwoman,” Mulan could hear her say haughtily as she walked away. 

Her elated feeling at having been complimented quickly vanished, leaving behind an gaping hole of inadequacy. 

 

+

 

Out of costume and completely cooled off, Mulan leaned against the stunt company’s van, Savior’s latest album playing through her headphones. She quietly sang along, swaying her body side to side in accordance to the slow rhythm. The van shook a little as the trunk opened and the rest of the crew appeared to put their items in. 

“Are you finished for the day?” She asked, removing her headphones and walking over to give them a hand.

“We’re going to the next destination,” replied Phillip as he picked up a bag and placed it into the large space at the back of the vehicle. His arm flexed at the effort, but his voice remained calm and steady, even teasing. “Are you being comforted by Savior?”

Comforted? “Uh, yeah.” 

Phillip stepped forward, just out of her personal bubble and put a concerned look on his face. “I heard that Tamara said something to you again.”

“No,” she denied, not wanting him to go through all the trouble he surely would if she confirmed it.

“What did she say?”

“I’m fine,” she reassured him, plastering a small smile onto her face as proof. “Whatever she says, I’m not bothered.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Shang said from behind Phillip. “That chick’s just jealous that you’re a hundred times prettier.”

Mulan laughed a little at that and flipped her hair jokingly. “I know. Lighting department says I’m a hundred and twenty five times prettier than her!” She crowed in a faux haughty voice. She put as much dramatics into a sigh as she could muster. “Why did my mother make me so pretty? Even though I only apply samples, my skin stays  _super_ soft; anything looks good on me.” 

The guys cleaning up were chuckling, exchanging wry grins as she continued and rolling their eyes dramatically. Phillip merely stood in silence, too busy internally agreeing to argue. 

“I thought it would get better as I aged, but I think I’ve actually acquired a mature beauty. I’m going crazy!” She continued, on a roll now. “The more I think about it, my mother was pretty.”

“Ah, seriously,” Shang groaned playfully, cutting off anything else she might say. “Why was her mother so damn pretty?” Chien-Po and Ling voiced their agreements around laughs.

“That’s what I mean!” Mulan leaned around Phillip and exchanged a high five with Shang. “Now what can I do to prove that I’m not just a pretty face?” She stretched her arms out so she could be handed something, _anything,_ only to have Phillip lightly knock her wriggling fingers down and deny her the opportunity.

With a wry grin, he stepped into her personal space and lifted her headphones from around her neck to place them back on her ears, Savior’s voice still filtering in through them.

“Continue listening to it,” he ordered softly. “It’s better when you sing it.”  

She sighed and dutifully nodded, leaning back against the van as Phillip turned back around to walk up the hill to get the rest of their equipment. Halfway up, he paused and looked back, watching Mulan’s mouth move with the words and exhaled wistfully before continuing on.

 

+ 

 

Back at the company, Phillip walked along the upper floor, ignoring the clacking of practice swords hitting each other, not bothering to look at the form of those practicing their roll. Instead he continued on to Mulan's locker and opened it, pulling two concert tickets from his back pocket and placing them carefully in her bag where he knew she would find them. With any luck, she’d ask him to go with her. 

 

* * *

  

Mulan sat beside Phillip with a large smile on her face, her gloved hand waving back in forth in time with Savior’s song. She stood on the stage in front of the crowd, perfect blonde curls framing her face as she sang, her red leather jacket glistening beneath the lights.

Phillip looked down at Mulan with an amused smile, arms folded across his chest, and memorized the elated look on her face. He licked him lips and leaned in.

“I told you to come with you friends.” He had to raise his voice a little to be heard, but he didn’t mind. 

“I don’t have any friends to come with me,” she replied, her smile palpable in her voice. “All of my friends like pop stars.” She glanced at him momentarily, but quickly turned back to face the stage and immersed herself in the music, unwilling to miss a single moment.

Phillip sighed and continued to watch her, unbothered by the fact she had practically said they weren’t friends—all that mattered to him was that she had chosen him for company.

In the front row of the upper seats, Aurora sat with her arms crossed, a frown on her face. She  _hated_ coming to Emma’s concerts. They were all ridiculous and people always came with stupid signs and it wasn’t even like Emma was that talented anymore; she had definitely already reached her peak a few years back, but she refused to give up the fame and the fortune. Aurora made to stand up, not wanting to sit through another song, but was yanked back. 

“Emma will be upset,” Wendy implored, her own sign now resting on her lap. “There’s not many songs left. Just wait a little more.”

“I’d like to tolerate it if I could. How is it possible she’s only gotten worse since she debuted?”

Wendy slapped her lightly on the arm. “The fans will hear you,” she growled at her older sister. “If you leave, I’ll tell Emma not to renew her contract and, even worse, to not sign on with LOEL.”

“Do you get money from Emma Swan to watch me?” Aurora asked, amused at the threat. 

“I’m a major shareholder of hers. Just try and leave.” If Aurora wasn’t going to support their cousin, then at least she would.

Aurora sighed but settled down fully into her chair again, wishing she had thought to bring earplugs. 

Standing all the way in the back, Regina watched at the stage, entranced. Small tears welled in the corner of her eyes that she fought down with shaky breaths. 

 

* * *

 

Aurora pulled up into her parking spot at LOEL, a crowd of people standing off to the side waiting for her. As one, they followed her inside, up the escalator, along the second floor, past the workers that were all lined up, up another escalator, past her employees on the third floor, and up another escalator. 

Once she was past, Belle shifted her wait and blew out a large breath before walking over to her station.

“Why does that woman always come this way when there’s a perfectly functioning elevator?” Ariel groaned beside her, rubbing her arm lightly.

Belle shrugged, unperturbed. “Why not? It’s nice that I get to see her face.” She made an appreciative noise. “How can she be so attractive?” 

Ariel wasn’t amused. “What’s the point of a pretty face when she doesn’t even work? Isn’t it ridiculous to only come to work two days out of the week?” She scoffed. “That’s why you hear rumors that the department store might change management. I heard that Maleficent is signing things in her place.”

Belle gasped and leaned in a little. “Really? Maleficent?” 

Ariel gave a little nod before they separated to finish the walk to their respective areas. 

 

+

 

Maleficent swayed into the room, Jacqueline close behind. Her cold calculating eyes took in every facet in front of her, the white daisies in vases along the wall, two neat white couches in the corner, a dark table in front of them, books and other types of flowers on built-in shelves behind a small desk. 

“This is the office of a CEO?” She drawled, lips pursed. “The décor is abominable.”

“Change it all when you become occupant of this room,” Jack suggested with an excited grin. 

Maleficent slammed the folder she was holding onto the desk, the noise reverberating and wiping the smile off of Jack’s face. “Listen here, Jacqueline,” she began.

“Yes, Maleficent?” Her eyes were planted on the floor, her voice shaky as she waited for retribution on whatever she did incorrectly. 

She missed the smile on Maleficent’s face.

“What should we change first?”

Jack looked up at her, surprised when she started laughing, but quickly following suit as to not offend. She grabbed the nameplate on the desk and lifted it up as Maleficent made her way around to the chair. 

“How about this?” She suggested, her excitement returning. 

Maleficent laughed and leant back in the chair, linking her hands behind her head, but her smile was quickly wiped away when the doors to the office opened and Aurora and her entourage walked in. She leapt from the chair and Jack put the nameplate back, shining it lightly to get rid of the smudges her fingerprints left.

Aurora strode past them without acknowledgement other than eyeing Maleficent for a moment as reached her chair. 

Acting as if nothing were the matter, Maleficent picked up the folder she had slammed down earlier and presented it to Aurora. “This is a project proposal for the autumn annual sale.”

She frowned and looked down at the folder, her hand on the back of her chair. “I didn’t even sit down yet.”

Maleficent smiled mockingly. “The management is impatient, so please understand.” 

“If it’s that urgent, why didn’t you authorize it already?” She challenged. “You still can’t copy my signature?”

Maleficent looked away, uncomfortable, and shifted her weight beneath her. “Rumors are just rumors,” she chuckled awkwardly before her voice hardened and she got back her momentum. “This all happens because you don’t come out to work.”

“I do come out,” Aurora interrupted, an eyebrow raised. “On Tuesdays and Thursdays.” 

“You also have to come the rest of the week.”

“I don’t want to. There’s far too much traffic.” Why would she come every day and sit through all of that traffic if all she had to do was sit behind her desk? She pulled her chair out and sat down, dragging the folder toward her and effectively calling that conversation to an end.

The board members behind Maleficent traded looks while she hid her smirk behind her hand. Getting this position would be a lot easier than she thought.

“Is this the best strategy?” Aurora asked, studying the cover. “Are you certain?”

“We’re not completely certain,” Jack called out hesitantly, eyes on the floor in front of her. Aurora scared the crap out of her, with her eyes that seemed to go right through the skin and pick out the deepest, darkest secrets. Jack wasn’t sure that if she looked straight at her, that she’d stay quiet about Maleficent’s plan to take her job. “Which part don’t you like?”

“How would I know just by the title?” 

Maleficent hid another smirk while the board members eyed each other, still stunned after seeing her lack of drive practically since she’d been appointed CEO. One step behind Maleficent, Ruby blew out a large breath in exasperation and fought the urge to hide her head in her hands. What was Aurora  _thinking_ , giving Maleficent ample fodder for proof of her apparent incompetency as head of LOEL? 

Aurora set the folder down and linked her hands on top of it, staring hard at the top of Jack’s head. “If it’s not the best or you’re not certain that it is, you should redo it.” There was no way she would allow her company to be mediocre, not whilst she was still the head, even if it didn’t last for much longer.

“I’ll remake the project proposal as quickly as possible.” 

Aurora removed it from beneath her hands and threw it the few scant inches toward Maleficent, eyes boring into her own in an unspoken challenge. 

 

* * *

 

"I'm a singer who has seven albums," Emma complained to Mary Margaret and David as they walked across her front yard. They traded annoyed glances; they’d been listening to her complaining about the same thing since they left the studio more than half of an hour ago. "So why is it that we're shooting the music video domestically? You saw the concert sold out, so what's the problem?" She threw her hands up in the air in confusion. "I can even be the main character!"

" _That's_  the problem. That." Mary Margaret sighed and ran her hand over her face. "There's not one music video director who is willing to work with you."

"Why isn't there someone to direct? Because of what reason?" Emma demanded, unlocking her door and letting them all in. 

"Because of what reason?" David asked incredulously, pushing Emma lightly. "Put your hand over your heart."

She complied with a frown. "There, it's over my heart. Why? Now what?"

"Don't you feel anything?" 

She shifted her hand a little and nodded. "Yeah, my boob has started to sag a little." She cupped both of her breasts and lifted them slightly, staring down at them for a moment before she let go and stuffed her hands in her pockets.

"Everyone knows you have no manners at all!" Mary Margaret yelled, exasperated. She turned around to face Emma with a frown. "It's all over the Internet that you threw a script!"

Emma put her hands in the air in defense. "Whoa, you've gone nuts! I didn't throw a script!" She lowered her arms to cross them over her chest, cocking her hip to the side. "It was a synopsis."

"Oh, is that so?" Mary Margaret smiled as if she were relieved. "Well then maybe”—her smile disappeared—“ _maybe_ the next time you meet them, you can throw the script at them, too!" She brushed past Emma toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Emma shouted after her. She wasn't quitting, was she? That'd be bad. David shifted his weight uncomfortably, unsure whether to stay or follow.

"I have to go find a director before you insist on directing it, as well," she called over her shoulder as she left. The slamming door only just covered her mutter of "Fucking hell."

"But how could I direct?" Emma asked the open air. The more she thought about it, though, the better of an idea that seemed. She wouldn't have to put up with anyone's ridiculous ideas, she wouldn't be ordered around, she could practically do what she wanted;  _she_ would be in charge. "Actually, that's not a bad idea! Should I just direct it this time? Then we'd have no problem!"

She turned around to see David's unamused visage.  

"Are you joking?" He asked, lip curling. 

She straightened her spine, offended. Why was it a bad idea?

"Why, you—!" She walked up to him and pushed him toward the door, only to freeze when she caught sight of the figure standing there. 

"Are you free?" Aurora asked, looking as prim and proper as she always did. She glanced a moment toward David where he stood staring for whatever reason—really she couldn't be bothered to even wonder. "I want to go out and get a drink."

Emma sighed and looked behind her cousin. "Well, you're the one without time."

Confused, Aurora followed her gaze to where Maleficent was standing. 

"I remade the autumn project proposal." She offered the folder in her hand to Aurora who was looking at her watch, stunned.

"In just six hours?"

" _I_ don't like to put my work off," Maleficent drawled, her insinuation clear.

Aurora sighed and postponed her drink.

 

+

 

She flipped through the proposal, skimming through the laminated pages with only a hint of interest. 

"Is this the best option? Are you sure?" She glanced up at Maleficent where she stood hovering. 

"Yes," she replied. In all honesty she hadn't really changed it at all; she almost had, but realized that Aurora had never looked at the original in the first place—all she had done was read the title and Jack had ruined it. How great would it have been if she had approved it without looking at it, and in front of the rest of the board members, too? And so instead Maleficent took a long lunch and worked on other stuff, namely planning more ways to topple Aurora out of her job.

"Really?" Aurora asked, closing the folder. "The contents are the same as the spring's, all you did was change the cover."

Maleficent blinked back her shock. "Well, this is an annual event, so filling it is more limited than you think," she explained as she fought the urge to grit her teeth. It hadn't even looked like she was really reading it, so how could she have noticed? 

Aurora leaned back in her chair and leveled a hard stare at Maleficent. "What if it's not as limited as you think?" She folded her hands onto her lap and raised an eyebrow. "Would you want to enter a contest to win a small car? You wouldn't, would you? You don't because you can buy a better car with money from me. So shouldn't you think more originally and sensationally? Do you think people's lives will be changed by just getting a tiny car? If it were I, instead of getting a car, a vacuum, or a fridge, I would want to emmulate a top star's fashion. I would want the coat, purse, and the ability to get clothing based on what she wore. Why?" She paused to allow Maleficent the chance to answer, but there was silence. 

"Vain women's wallets are easier to open than housewives'," she explained for her. "I would rather open a luxurious and vain wallet, where money flows out more easily, so that _your_ wallet will be filled constantly. What do you think?" 

Maleficent sighed and plastered a smile onto her face. "You never say the wrong thing. Then what do I do with Emma's renewing contract?"

"We should proceed with it," she replied, reaching forward and grabbing a pen off her desk and twirling it between her fingers.

"Sales have increased because international visitors have increased. If we can't renew her contract—"

"Didn't you hear the word 'proceed'? Are you pushing me because I won't do it or can't do it? Don't you think I'll do it if I said I would?" She pulled her phone from her purse and dialed a number. "Be ready in ten minutes."

She ended the call after hearing a reply, looking back up at Maleficent. She blinked, purposefully looking surprised. "What are you still doing here? You can go." She waved her hand in dismissal. 

 

* * *

 

The lighting in the jazz club was just light enough to be able to see without straining, a quiet hum of conversation and a band on the stage setting the atmosphere. 

Aurora took a sip of her wine and sighed, glancing at her table companion. "When was the last time you filmed a commercial? What's it been, a year?"

Emma looked up from where her hands were placed on the table and stared at her cousin critically. "Why do you want to know?"

"Whenever I change the channel, there are so many hot stars. You didn't sign the contract without hesitation," she pointed out with a smile.

She frowned. "Is that why you called me here?"

Aurora hummed as she swirled the wine in her glass. "Your seventh album now might be the last chance for you to retire at your peak." She sipped and grinned in the charming way that had won over so many people before. "And it might the last chance for you to sign the contract with my department store.”

"That's what you think!" Emma snorted.

"Have you ever seen me be wrong? Money isn’t an important factor for you or me; for this contract, just take enough to appease your pride. I’ll lie at the press release and say you got triple that amount. "

"Money is not important to you and me," she rebutted, using her cousin's own words against her. "So why are you asking me to have less? You can just give me more!"

"Nope, can't do that. Then _my_ pride will be hurt."

"Wha—" Emma groaned and just barely resisted the urge to bang her head onto the table. "No, I won't sign the contract."

Aurora hid her smile, unperturbed. She had no doubt that Emma would sign the contract.

"Now, I'll leave first; that woman at the bar has yet to take her eyes off of me," Emma announced, beginning to stand, pausing when she saw the amused expression on Aurora's face. "What?"

"It's not you she's looking at, it's me."

"Are you cross-eyed?" Emma challenged, sitting back down once more. "She’s been trying to catch my eye since I first walked in. "

"Yeah, because I keep avoiding hers." She finished off her wine with a satisfied smile.

"She must be one of my fans," Emma insisted. "Do you want me to ask her?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You're going too far," she warned.

"Do you want to bet on it? I'm going to ask her!"

"You'll get beaten. She's been on a date with me before," she explained, taking pity on her cousin. 

"What?" She looked over at the woman they were discussing and, sure enough, she was staring dreamily—almost desperately, actually—at Aurora. 

She stood, looking down at the blonde as she smoothed the nonexistent ruffles on her dress. "Bring your stamp to my office before I change my mind and find a hot new kid to replace you," she commanded, grabbing her purse and walking away.

"Hey! Don't forget the bill!" Emma yelled after her, not caring enough about decorum to lower her voice. The woman opened her mouth as Aurora walked by, prepared to say something, but she ignored them both and continued on. 

Emma stood, hands on her hips, thoroughly annoyed at having somehow managed to be beat and also being saddled with the bill. She turned back to the table and grabbed what was left of her scotch, slamming it down her throat in one go. It was only when the burn subsided that she realized the music had changed to slightly more upbeat piano music, a soft tenor singing an unknown melody. She watched transfixed as the boy – man, really – on the slightly raised stage played the keys with his eyes closed. 

He was good, _really_ good. Probably better than she was, but she would never admit it out loud. Not to mention he was attractive. His looks were sure to get girls and boys alike falling all over him. She internally bristled at the fact that he could be someone her cousin chose over her.

Her ringing phone broke through her stupor. She struggled to get it from her back pocket before it stopped ringing, but groaned quietly when she saw Tamara’s picture flashing on the screen. She’d been calling her all day, and apparently hadn’t gotten the hint when all the calls came unanswered. She turned her phone over, careful not to accidentally answer it, and removed the battery as quickly as she could.

Her attention free again, she slid back into her side of the booth and watched him perform.

 

+

 

Tamara stamped her foot on the ground and threw the balled-up rag in her hand at the wall. “Emma, why are ignoring me? You’ve been ignoring my calls, but you answered for Baelfire’s Neal! Why just take his calls? I’ve got a nice butt, too! You’ve seen it!”

Behind her, Mulan tried not to snort in laughter. Her back was to Tamara out of respect, but it was hard not to listen at the decibel she was shouting into her mobile.

“I can’t break up like this. We’ve opened up our filming location today and there are a ton of reporters here. I’m going to let everybody know about our relationship, got it?” She ended the call on the threat and almost threw her phone down out of fury.

Mulan, thinking it safe, turned back around and offered her a cold bottle of water. Tamara took it without thanks and drank it down before a thought occurred to her.

“How long have you been there? Why are you here?”

“The director asked us to practice the fight scene.” Mulan smiled at her, hoping not to tip Tamara’s quick temper.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered. “Why do we need to do it again? We’ve already done it tons of times.”

“We have to practice more to make sure no one gets hurt and everything runs smoothly. The scene is complex and a slight mistake could cause an accident.”

“Did anybody ask you to talk back?” Tamara thundered with a frown. “I get all sorts of—” Her words were too quiet to make out past then but she acquiesced, ordering her to lead the way.

 

+

 

“One, two, three, four,” Mulan counted calmly as they went through the steps—well, it was more her going through the steps and Tamara standing there, unenthusiastically moving her sword slightly to block her light swings.

When they finished, Tamara internally cheered, ready to put her sword back down, her arm already tired.

“Let’s do it again.” Mulan waited for her to get ready before she started again. “One, two, three—”

In frustration, Tamara broke rhythm and swung wildly at Mulan’s head, whose quick duck sent her off balance. She screamed and fell into the weapon’s table—which did contain a few sharper items—but Mulan went with her and twisted their bodies so that she would get the blunt of the force instead of the actress.

Everyone crowded around them, pulling Tamara out of the wreckage as she screamed and cried.

“My fingernail,” she bemoaned, thrusting the small piece of glass sticking in her tender flesh into as many faces as she could. A small drop of blood slid from the wound, causing her to become even louder.

Mulan picked herself up, wincing when she pulled her arm the wrong way. A long cut marred the skin of her bicep, blood trailing steadily from it. With a quiet curse she grabbed her jacket and shrugged it on, hoping no one would notice and send her home; she needed this paycheck. Thankfully, everyone seemed preoccupied with Tamara’s finger to pay her any mind.

“Are you very hurt?” Mulan asked, hugging her arm tightly to her body in as casual a way as she could manage. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the crowd, but she managed to get the Rumpel’s attention. 

“Miss Hua, are you crazy? How could you make such a mess of the lead actress’ fingernail?” He shouted in outrage.

“I’m sorry, sir.” She bowed a little, her hair hiding the pain the small motion put her through as her jacket went taught across her injury.

“We still have to film, so what are you going to do about it, huh?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she repeated, this time slightly pleading.

Phillip made his way over to the crowd, the rest of the action school’s team following closely behind.

“What are you sorry about?” He glanced from Mulan down at the crying star unpityingly. “So why didn’t you practice when we asked you to?”

“What am I going to do about my finger,” she yelled instead.

“Look here, Phillip,” Rumpel ordered with a frown. “Tamara is hurt.”

Phillip reached over to Mulan and pulled her injured arm up, showing him the blood leaking through her jacket. “And does she look okay to you?” He asked, fury boiling over the calm he attempted to use to stifle it.

“It’s fine,” she told the director.

“This is fine?” Phillip’s voice, harsh with fury and worry, drew her attention away. “What are you, Wonder Woman?”

Behind him, Shang and Chien-Po exchanged worried glances. It was never good when Phillip got mad, especially when it was about someone on their squad being injured.

She attempted to take her arm from his grip but her movement only caused it to hurt worse, so she stilled. “I’m fine, sir.” She turned back to Rumpel. “I can still do the shoot.”

“Are you rebelling right now? You’re an actress, too. Someone’s crying and making a fuss over a fingernail, and you’re going to treat your body like that?”

“Now, Phillip,” Rumpel entreated. “How can you talk like that?” His voice quickly turned threatening. “Do you want your entire teamed pulled out?”

Phillip looked back at the livid director calmly. “I’m already planning on pulling them out. I can’t let my people work at a site like this.” He let go of Mulan and turned to his crew standing behind him. “What are you doing just standing there? Gather up the props!” He walked away, ignoring Mulan’s calls for him.

“I’m sorry, director, just a moment, please.” She turned and followed after Phillip as quickly as she could without jostling her arm too much.

 

* * *

 

Astrid put the new thing of medication on the table between them and glanced over at her patient.

“If it’s alright, I’m thinking about reducing your medication.”

“No, don’t reduce it, it makes me nervous,” Aurora petitioned. “At this rate, do you think I’ll ever be able to work a normal schedule?”

“Do I look like a quack to you?” She asked, pretending to be insulted. “I told you I’d help you do that.”

“Hey, be nice to me. What kind of doctor acts like that?” She bemoaned, grabbing one of the pillows next to her and hugging it to her chest.

Astrid looked into her teacup at the little remnants left. “If it bothers you that much, just go find a new one!” She smiled slightly when Aurora sighed and hugged the pillow tighter. “Now, is it still too hard to get into an elevator?”

She threw the pillow to the other side of the couch and picked up her still full cup of tea. “If it was merely hard, then I’d bear it and ride on.” She took a sip and placed it back down. “If I even go near one, I can’t breathe.” She looked desperately at her psychiatrist. “What if rumors about my condition start to spread in the company?”

Her phone began to ring before she was afforded an answer. She held up a placating finger as she reached to answer the device.

“What?” She asked Emma.

“ _You’re just hanging out right now, aren’t you?_ ”

She glanced at Astrid from the corner of her eye. “Of course I am. When am I not just ‘hanging out’?”

“ _Good. There’s this place called French Town; if you go there, you’ll see them filming a movie. The lead actress is Tamara. I need you to hold her for three hours—just three._ ” She sounded desperate, but Aurora didn’t fold, too busy working this to her advantage.

“Are you taking drugs now, too? I’m hanging up.”

She could only just barely hear Emma’s yells of “ _Wait, just wait!_ ” as she took the phone from her ear. It was with a barely concealed smirk that she brought it back.

“ _I’m in the middle of recording right now. I just dated her really briefly, but she’s a total nutcase. If this gets out, then I’m dead. She says reporters are headed there.”_

Aurora looked toward Astrid with an apologetic smile. She indicated that she should stand, hoping she’d understand that they would have to cut their session for the day short.

Astrid nodded, finished her tea, and stood, making a motion for her to call if she needed anything. It was only when Aurora mouthed a _thank you_ that she left.

In her ear, Emma was still speaking.

“ _She must be the type that’s totally been around the block a couple of times._ ”

“Sounds like your style,” Aurora added absentmindedly, grabbing one of the books in front of her and flipping to her last read page.

“ _Please help me,_ ” Emma implored. “ _She says if I’m going to break up with her, I need to pay compensation. She says she has a picture of us fooling around at the hotel._ ”

Aurora scoffed. “Do you think she’s the only one that has that kind of pictures? Why don’t you collect them and make a book; I’m sure there are enough of them. Bye.”

“ _Are you really going to be like this?_ ” Emma shrieked. “ _Fine, bring me the contract. I’ll sign it._ ”

She grinned. Bingo, x-marks-the-spot, whatever—her planned worked. “Where’s French Town? I just have to find the lead actress, right?” She leaned forward in glee. “Ah, right, but you don’t need a contract deposit, right? The economy’s tough, you know.”

Emma groaned on the other side of the line. “ _You bitch._ ” Even so, there was a grudging hint of admiration in her voice.

 

* * *

 

Rumpel ignored the figure in front of him, looking straight past her toward the people milling about.

“Director.” She shifted her weight in an attempt to gain his attention. Her hand was covering the wound on her arm, her jacket material now soaked with blood. The pressure on the wound helped it hurt less for the most part, though, so she ignored the blood on her hand and continued to press it. “I’ll work really hard. Please let me continue working on this film.”

“Why are you asking me?” He inquired with derision. “Did I pull the team? Phillip says he’s pulling you guys.”

“It’s my fault; this sort of thing won’t happen again.”

A few yards away, Aurora walked down the staircase, staring at the two conversing figures. She had changed into a tracksuit, blue sequins adorning the chest, stomach, and back of the jacket and decorating the line that ran down the side of her legs—the closest thing to non-descript that she had.

“Again, why are you talking to me about this?” He still hadn’t looked at her, though it was obviously in a deliberate way to make her squirm. “Am I going to have to hold, carry, and baby the stunt director now, too?”

Aurora bent down at the bottom of the stairs and poked one of the lighting guys until he woke.

“Excuse me, sorry to wake you,” she opened cordially, looking back over at the now yelling man and the woman in front of him. “Which one is Tamara?”

“Tamara?” He rubbed some of the tired from his eyes as he looked around, zeroing in on long hair and tight black shorts. “That one, over there.” He pointed to the woman in the correct costume.

“Okay, thank you.” She grabbed her wallet and handed him a five. “Sleep well.”

She began the short walk over to the now alone female – the yelling man had stalked off – that was dejectedly making her way toward her. When they met, Aurora stood her ground, purposefully placing half of her body in her way.

Mulan looked up in confusion, frowning when she saw the unfamiliar person.

“You know Emma Swan—I mean, Savior, right?”

“Savior?” She asked, perplexed.

“What, you don’t know her?” This was the right place, right? How many places had an actress named Tamara in French Town?

“And what if I do?” Mulan’s chin raised slightly in a challenge.

“Then let’s go; she wants to see you.” Aurora was hardly in the mood to play games.

“Me?”

 

+

 

Cold wind whipped around Mulan’s face, chilling her and making her hair churn wildly.

“Can’t you close the top?” She asked, trying to calm her hair with one hand so the other could stay immobile. She wished that she had a hair tie, or that the set costume had made it so that her hair was back from her face.

“If I was going to put the top up, why would I have bought a convertible?” Aurora retorted, despite the obvious signs that she was just as cold: the one hand on the steering wheel was red at the knuckles, her other tucked between her thighs; her jacket was zipped all the way up and she was slouched in such a way that allowed her chin to tuck into the raised collar. “Where is it?”

Mulan blinked in surprise. “Where’s what?”

“He said he wanted to see you at the hotel where you first met. So where is that hotel?” She glanced at the idiot with the tracksuit, stunned. She’d been driving this entire time without a destination? She sat in quiet surprise long enough for the driver to take her eyes off of the road for a brief moment to look at her expectantly. “What, have you been to so many that you don’t remember?”

“Hotel Ritz,” she finally answered. “Room 1103.”

“1103?” Aurora reiterated, trying not to squeak out of fear. “My goodness. All you need is four walls; you’re not mountain goats. Why go up so damn high?” She slammed her warmer hand on the steering wheel in frustration.

Mulan stared at her, eyes wide. What the hell had she gotten herself into?

 

+

 

Aurora took the room key from the clerk, internally fuming at the sum she just had to pay to keep someone for a few hours. She was tempted to stay the night to ensure that the money didn’t go to waste. Still, she supposed, it was hardly as though it wasn’t worth it; it gave her something to do and ensured that her good-for-nothing cousin would sign the contract with her department store, so all was not lost, at least.

She walked over to where Tamara stood by the elevators, looking back and forth between the person and the ominous metal doors. She reached to hand her the key as she scrambled to come up with an excuse as to why she couldn’t go in the death trap.

“You go on up first,” she commanded, trying to keep her cool at the calculating eyes swung her way.

“Why?”

“I—” Crap, she hadn’t come up with anything yet. She glanced back at the doors. “I’m a person that can’t be seen with a woman in a hotel.” She internally pumped a fist and patted herself on the back. Crisis averted, good job Aurora. Except—

The others waiting for the elevator looked over at that, eyeing her outfit in clear disbelief. She scratched at her neck self-consciously and kept talking.

“If you find out later, you might think, ‘Oh dear, I tried to go up a hotel elevator with a woman like her?’ I’m that level of person.” The eyes on her were still repudiating her words, in fact a few were even laughing at her. Her anxiety levels were starting to increase, and the ever-present knowledge that the elevator doors could open at any time didn’t help. Shit, shit, shit. Tamara openly looked her up and down, an amused eyebrow raised.

“Ah, these clothes?” She feigned a small laugh and smiled. “I really didn’t want to have to do this.” She turned around and unzipped her jacket a little, practically bending over backward to give the small crowd a glimpse at the tag within. “Can you see? You know what this is, right? This training suit is…” She glanced behind her, only to find no one there any longer. She eyed the group through the open elevator doors, all quietly laughing with the exception of the freaked out female with whom she had come.

When the doors closed, Aurora’s body was still twisted in the same uncomfortable position. She quickly stood back up and rezipped her jacket, pulling the collar up to cover part of her face in embarrassment.  
 

+

 

Mulan stepped slowly inside of the room, slipping the key into her pocket. She used the bar to keep the door partially open so that _whoever_ that idiot was wouldn’t have to knock when she arrived. She recognized that it was insane not to know the name of the person who drove her to the hotel, but any time she asked, she was met with either stony silence or some ridiculous tirade that amounted to the fact that she was too high up in life to say. Fucking rich people. Still, she had bared it because apparently Savior wanted to meet her, and who was she to deny her favorite singer in the entire world?

She took a deep breath and surveyed the room, remembering the day as if it had been merely weeks ago.

_“Hua Mulan?” The director called, getting her attention. Savior was behind her, following her steps to where Mulan stood, putting on her wig with the help of the aesthetics crew. “Mulan, say hello.”_

_She quickly whipped the atrociously ill-fitting (in her mind, anyway) wig from her head and tried to fix her hair as she turned around to face them._

_“Ah, Rapunzel’s double?” Savior smiled charmingly, and Mulan’s heart melted. “I look forward to working with you.”_

_She blushed and returned the sentiment. Her right foot slid back a little, and the toe of the shoe bounced lightly on the carpet as she tried to beat down the butterflies in her stomach. Her nervousness, of course, didn’t go unnoticed._

_Savior took a drink of her water and brushed back the errant hairs that had fallen from her bobby pins. “If I ask you if you wanted to get coffee, you won’t puncture a hole in your shoe, will you?”_

_“What?” She looked down in embarrassment and returned her foot next to its partner._

_Savior opened her mouth, looking ready to flirt some more, but was called over by the director to look over the script again._

_Mulan turned away toward the window, biting down on her bottom lip to keep from grinning to wildly. Behind her, she could still hear Savior._

_“We’ll shoot the next one,” she murmured, leaning into the director more. “Why isn’t Rapunzel here yet? We’re just waiting.”_

+

 

Aurora leaned against the cool metal railing as she compelled her legs up more stairs. Her breathing was laborious, and she felt as though she were made of lead instead of bone. The white eight on the wall ahead seemed to mock her as she practically pulled herself up the stairs with the help of the poles holding up the railing. She paused to catch her breath, but when she almost lost her balance due to exhaustion, she forced herself to continue. She groaned and silently vowed to do more cardio if actually she made it to the eleventh floor.

 

+

 

Mulan threw the bloodied once-sterilized pad into the trashcan and taped a new one over her cut. It was a little lopsided, but it was as good as she could get it with only one hand, so she called it a day and shrugged her jacket back up onto her shoulders.

She cleaned up the rest of her mess and made her way to the kitchen, her mind on the ridiculous person who had driven her. Sure she was pretty, if you were into the whole body and face thing, but what was her deal? Mulan could admit that she didn’t have all that much money, and even still would probably choose roaming around naked if the only other option was that hideous track suit.

A glance toward the time as she grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge had her frowning. Was it really taking ten minutes just to climb up a few flights of stairs? Unless she was just supposed to drop her here for Savior. Or she could be waiting for Savior and they were going to come in together or…

She walked into the sitting room off of the entrance way, imagining all the things her and Savior could talk about—mainly that obviously she had fallen in love with Mulan that day and couldn’t get her out of her mind no matter how hard she tried and thus resorted to getting that questionably insane person to drag her to the hotel in which they met for a wildly romantic gesture of love.

She had only just sat down and taken a drink from her water, a wistful smile turning up the corner of her lips, when the door was shoved open and the woman from earlier entered on shaky legs. She beelined for Mulan and snagged the water away to chug half of its contents.

Mulan was distinctly disappointed when Savior didn’t enter the door behind her.

She studied the gasping female as she sat down. Her jacket was unzipped to reveal a black and white shirt and that the hideous, sequined article was off her shoulders and its sleeves had slid past her hands. In all, it painted a rather adorable picture, what with her hair in slight disarray, some strands sticking to her forehead, and the fact her eyes were slightly closed in relief of being able to sit down—if you were in to that sort of thing, of course, which Mulan most definitely wasn’t. After all, who in the world would choose to take the stairs over the elevator when the obstacle was eleven flights of stairs?

Aurora took her jacket off and laid it over the back of the couch, leaning back against the soft cushions. She ignored the most definitely not small amount of sweat that caused her shirt to stick to her back and just enjoyed the fact she was no longer climbing stairs.

They sat in silence for a few seconds before she looked in Mulan’s direction again.

“Are you okay?” She asked, gesturing vaguely toward Mulan. “You need to be alone with me for about an hour.”

“Are _you_ okay?” Mulan queried pointedly. She eyed the woman who was still clearly feeling the effects of her ill-chosen exercise. “I’m okay, though I mostly deal with men for work.”

Aurora, who had just attempted to take a drink of the water she had stolen, choked and started sputtering, wiping away the water that dribbled out of her mouth.

“You—” She coughed and cleared her throat before trying again. What had her cousin said earlier about her? “You must be experienced.” She carefully closed the lid on the bottle, not wanting to risk spilling it should there be another turn in the conversation. “How long ago did you meet Savior?”

She smiled wistfully and looked up at the ceiling. “It’s been a long time; I didn’t think she still remembered me.”

Aurora stared at her, wide eyed. “You have a pretty memorable face.”

Mulan turned toward her, unsure whether the comment was a compliment or not. 

“You seem like a pretty straight forward person, and I can’t stand being curious about things, so I’m going to ask – how much money do you normally get, from a top star like Emma Swan?” The woman beside her merely looked confused, so she continued. “You said you filmed something here, right? I’m asking how much you receive in compensation for stuff like that.”

Mulan blinked in confusion. “You mean like a guarantee?”

“Call it what you’d like!” Aurora replied, laughing uncomfortably. Who was this woman whom her cousin had sent for her to apprehend? “I just want to know the amount.”

“I don’t get more for a ‘top star’,” she said thoughtfully. “If the location is rural or outdoors, I get more.”

“O-Outdoors?” Aurora could feel her face heating up.

“Rooftops or bamboo groves are really trendy right now.”

She was really glad that she had capped the water, or else it would likely have been spilt by then, what with this woman talking so casually about this. “Bamboo groves?” She really _did not_ want to know about her cousin’s sex life. She buried her face in her hands, trying to stop her imagination. “Oh, wow, Emma.”

“The pay is best in a car,” Mulan continued, confused about the reaction she was getting but enjoying it nonetheless. “Probably because it’s so much harder.”

Aurora lifted her head, looking stunned. She nodded absentmindedly. “Ah, a car.” She gulped, and squeezed her eyes shut, but the images flashing in her mind made her eyes open lest she question her sanity. “Of course it’s harder, what with it being uncomfortable and cramped, not a lot of space to move…” She cleared her throat and stared at her hands, instead. “But, I suppose men like it.”

“Of course they do. Men like excitement and speed.”

She ran her fingers through her hair, fighting against her own mental images. Focus, Aurora. It was definitely not the time to take a page from Emma’s book. “Your personality is very, um, interesting.” She risked a glance over to the person next to her, praying that her cheeks weren’t nearly as red as they felt. “How can you be so matter-of-fact and blunt about…” Goodness, this woman could be frank about the different places her job took her to, and she couldn’t even say the _word_. She felt like a child beside her. “Don’t you get a little embarrassed? I mean, as someone who has a lead role in a film.”

“Lead… role?” Mulan repeated, confused. She looked down at her outfit as comprehension flickered in her head. Oh. Oh shit. Fucking hell. “Excuse me, what’s my name?”

“What?”

“I asked you what my name was.” She sighed. “Who was it that Savior asked to meet?”

“Tamara.” She made a bewildered ‘what the fuck’ sort of face, unsure where the conversation was going. But all she got was a laugh so fake that her confusion only increased. Did she miss a joke or something?

The laugh stopped without warning, leaving Mulan’s face with a scowl.

“Are you from some hick town?” It was the only explanation she could come up with for someone to mistake her for someone like _Tamara_. “How long have you had this job?”

“Hick town?” Aurora squeaked, fighting down her ire. What the _fuck_?

“City life is hard, isn’t it?” She asked in feigned sympathy. She grabbed the jacket between them. “Still, what the hell are you wearing? Savior has her reputation to look out for.”

Aurora snatched it back, glaring hard. “I knew you were thinking that. Didn’t you see the tag earlier? Look harder this time.” She folded it so the designer label was visible. “This was hand sewn in Italy, and the sequins were stitched one by one—”

Except that no good bitch Emma had gotten with wasn’t even looking and went so far as to scoff at her explanation. She threw the jacket back down between them and grabbed her phone from her pocket.

“What was she thinking with a girl like you?” She muttered as she dialed Emma’s number. “It’s not like I can fight with you, as I’m a woman of culture.” She pressed the phone to her ear, waiting for an answer. “Where are you?” She practically growled into the phone. “You said you’d be here soon, so why aren’t you?”

“ _The filming was delayed. Just two more hours._ ” Emma didn’t sound the least bit apologetic.

“Two more—”

Mulan took the phone from her and pressed it to her own face, too annoyed to fully appreciate that her idol was on the other end of the call. She beat down the butterflies in her stomach. “Excuse me, it seems like you asked this girl to pick up Tamara, but this moron got the wrong—”

Aurora snatched the phone away in horror and ended the call without saying anything to her cousin. “The wrong—You’re not Tamara?” She was aghast. “Who are you? If you’re not Tamara, why did you come along?”

“Did you ask if I was Tamara?” She demanded, not willing to put up with any of this any longer. “You just asked if I knew Savior.”

Aurora closed her eyes and pressed the heel of her hands against them. “Do you know how much this deal is worth?” She groaned when she reopened them. Fuck. If she wasn’t Tamara, then where the hell was she? Causing trouble, no doubt. If Emma found out that she had taken the wrong person, not only would she never live it down, but there was no way she would sign the contract, either. “What are you going to do? How are you going to take responsibility?” She was just barely holding back hysterics, but she was almost positive that some of her desperation managed to slip through.

“Responsibility?” Not-Tamara retorted. “Why should I?” She scoffed. “I thought you were a moron, but now I see you’re a total whack job.” Her phone began to ring, so she fished it out even as the woman next to her began to protest.

“What? Whack job? You—”

The woman who was apparently _not_ Tamara slapped a hand over her mouth and she was too stunned to think to remove it. What the _fuck_? She was certain she had thought the obscenity more times in the past few minutes than she had in the presence of anyone other than her cousin. Well, at least she didn’t think the woman was a prostitute or a porn star or whatever anymore, so that was comforting, though it didn’t explain what she had been talking about earlier, or even why she was in the same outfit as the lead actress. Unless the half-asleep lighting guy had pointed her to the wrong person deliberately which, in that case, there would be some serious retribution.

“Yes, Director Rumplestiltskin!” The woman (if she wasn’t Tamara, what the fuck was her name?) answered happily. “Really? Of course! Thank you!”

Aurora finally shoved her hand from her mouth, but the movement didn’t appear to be noticed. She wiped the area with her sleeve, glaring at the woman who had the gall to trick her and then touch her. She began to speak, but apparently _that_ was noticed because the hand was almost put over her mouth again. She swatted it away before it could land, though, she instead she was shushed with the universal gesture for silence.

“Are you still in French Town? I’ll be there in thirty minutes!” She hung up and then stood, beginning a march toward the door, but Aurora stuck her leg out and stopped her.

“Where do you think you’re going?” She demanded. “And another thing, how are you going to get there in thirty minutes?” It had taken them almost forty-five minutes to get to the hotel, and that was even with her speeding a little.

Mulan grinned down at her. “Do you want to meet Tamara?”

“What? Yeah.” She had a sinking feeling in her stomach.

“Then give me your keys.”

 

+

 

Aurora fought hard to keep from screaming as they zoomed down the road, weaving in and out of traffic. Her hands were on the lip of the windshield, wind whipping at her hands and most likely chapping them, but she cared more for a feeling of safety than she did dry hands, so she left them there.

She closed her eyes, hoping it’d help, but it only made the motions of the car even more nauseating and terrifying, so she forced them open. Which wasn’t too bad, since her hair was flying around, occasionally covering her eyes and hiding from her the horror of what was happening.

“What the fuck!” She screeched when they nearly hit another car – there had been so many near misses that her heart felt like it was going to break from her chest. Where had she learned to drive like this?

They cut in front of another car, it’s horn making her jump. Shit, she was going to die in a car driven by someone whose name she didn’t even know. 

She glanced over at the driver, but her stony face held none of the anxiety Aurora was feeling. She opened her mouth to cuss at her, but realized that speaking to her – even in a slew of obscenities—could break her concentration and then she really would end up dying. So she merely held on for dear life and tried to keep from screaming in terror.

When they finally stopped, Aurora flung herself from the car and tried to keep from retching onto the pavement.

“What?” That ghastly woman taunted. “You don’t like car scenes?”

She turned to glare at her, but was stunned by the excitement reflecting in her eyes. Well, she supposed she wouldn’t have been too surprised if she had been Tamara: she was, Aurora admitted to herself, gorgeous enough to be a star, and definitely pretty enough to catch her cousin’s eye. And how come her hair wasn’t crazy like Aurora knew hers was? How unfair.

“Here.” She broke Aurora’s stupor enough that she managed to catch the keys thrown at her. “Look for the person wearing the same thing I am; that’s Tamara.” She slammed the car door hard enough for her to whimper at the safety of her car, and ran toward the set.

“Hey, wait!” She shouted after her. “That’s not what we agreed! You have to find her for me!” Her yells went unheard, though. She groaned and turned back to the car to grab her jacket, only to find herself face to face with the lighting guy from earlier.

“You again? Why do you keep coming?” He shook his head in disproval. “You can’t get autographs during filming, you know.” He turned his back and walked away, following the same path.

“I’m not here for fucking autographs,” she muttered to herself, pulling on the top half of her training suit. “These clothes aren’t what everyone seems to think they are. Don’t they know fashion when they see it?” She zipped it up roughly, almost punching herself in the chin when her hand slipped off the metal. “A master craftsman in Italy who only made tracksuits for forty years designed this and sewed it himself! Fucking people who don’t appreciate a good quality tracksuit when they see it.”

She reached out and grabbed someone on the arm.

“Where’s Tamara?”

 

+

 

Tamara dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, thrilled that her profession taught her how to produce tears on a whim. Bright lights flashed all around her as photographers and reporters took the picture of the poor, heartbroken woman who sat behind the table in front of them.

“Is it true you’re dating Savior?” One shouted over the clamor. “Or is it just a rumor?”

She faked a sob just loud enough for the microphones around the room to pick up. Some reporters came closer, kneeling beside the table to get a better angle of her face. She made sure that her injured finger was visible in as many pictures as she could, knowing it could only help her now. She could practically see the story now: _Tamara, heartbroken over the fact that her secret relationship with the idol known as Savior was discovered, is so distracted on set by the news that she injures herself, possibly putting off production._ She couldn’t wait.

Aurora hovered just inside the doors, wishing the floor would open and swallow her up so she wouldn’t have to do this, let alone in front of a whole bunch of good-for-nothing reporters. She slid the collar of her jacket up enough to cover the lower half of her face and stuck her hands in her pockets, glad she had the foresight to fix her hair into looking presentable. She walked down the aisle left by the bloodthirsty beings, trying to ignore when they turned to look at her, hoping none would recognize her and yet knowing such luck was unlikely once they compared their pictures with others on the Internet.

The clamoring quieted, and even Tamara ceased her façade as Aurora approached. She winced internally every time a flash went off, knowing she was the subject. When she reached the table, she took out her wallet and slid her card out for Tamara to see, aware that she, at least, wouldn’t recognize her.

The actress’ eyes widened at the gold card, especially when she read what was on it. Everyone who was anyone in the city knew of LOEL, and most shopped there or on the online store. Aurora Ryan, the freaking _CEO_ of the company—according to the card, anyway—leaned down until their faces were scant inches away, and slid the collar down to reveal the rest of her face. Tamara’s heart fluttered at the proximity to such a wealthy and attractive woman, but she managed to stay quiet.

“Do you know I’ve been looking for you all day?” Aurora asked quietly.

“Me?” Her voice was shaky at best, and she did her best to keep it at the same level. “Why?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was your fan?”

The tone she used made it feel as though they were sharing a secret and it excited her, filling her with a warmth she couldn’t believe. Emma was nothing, compared to the charisma the woman before her exuded. “Really?”

“You must be as intelligent as you are elegant, right?” She smiled charmingly, but Tamara’s faltered, a bad feeling in the back of her throat.

“What?”

“Moreover, there won’t be any scandal here.” Her voice was almost threatening, but definitely had a steely tint to it.

“Scandal?” She felt like a robot, only able to repeat or say one word at a time. “Okay.” After all, who was she to deny the CEO of the biggest and best department store in the city? She didn’t dare risk angering such a high-powered person, not when it was her favorite place to shop.

 

+

 

“Hey, it’s me,” Aurora said into the phone as she tossed Tamara’s wadded up tissue into the trash. She walked down the stairs away from the room of reporters, content to allow Tamara to handle it however she wanted.

“ _What happened? What did she say? Did the reporters leave? What did she go on about? Did you make sure she didn’t jabber on?_ ”

She sighed into the phone at all of her cousin’s questions. She could feel a headache coming on, what with dealing with the chick from hell, her cousin, and the overly dramatic starlet. “Can you stop with all the questions? I’m trying to tell you…” She stopped on the last step, transfixed and frozen. “I’ll call you later.” She hung up and slowly lowered her arm.

In the open courtyard across the way, a ring of men stood around the woman from earlier, all of them brandishing weapons. She couldn’t discern whether they were real or not, but the possibility of a dangerous mishap made her gulp. And then they were moving, all converging on one point in the center. She was moving too, running toward one and parrying his weapon so she could slide out from the deadly circle, knowing she’d have little chance if she had to defend from all sides.

She swung and slashed and blocked, refusing to give ground if she could help it. It was difficult to keep up with, from the angle Aurora stood. It all seemed to be moving so quickly, a deadly dance that lacked the danger if the choreography was followed. From the distance she could see a thin strip of medical tape on the woman’s arm, colored with a red that seemed to expand as time progressed. She wondered how much thought the team had put into making it seem so realistic.

She was mesmerizing, the way she twisted and turned, focusing on steps she must have practiced over and over. Aurora wondered how she could do it, how she could remember it without messing up, how she could stand to do such physical work—because she had, belatedly, realized exactly what the woman had gone on about earlier, with her working mostly with men and outdoors stuff and _cars_. It certainly explained how she seemed so unfazed after driving like a maniac earlier. And, well, the bamboo groves comment wasn’t actually as bad as she thought it had been, though her cheeks still heated up at the thought.

Behind her, the doors open and the voices of reporters broke her from her stupor. With a regretful glance back toward the woman, she turned and left.

 

+

 

Mulan left the main building, her costume in hand. It was a relief to be out of the constricting fabric and back into a long shirt, long pants, and shoes that weren’t more for show than comfort. Exhaustion tugged at the edges of her consciousness. She’d been up late the previous night talking to Belle and had woken when her alarm went off; she’d been unable to get back to sleep and thus had started the day at five in the morning, even going to so far as to cook Belle breakfast as an apology. And then she got injured and had the big argument with Phillip over her safety, essentially had to beg and plead the director to allow her to continue (basically exactly what she was trying to get Belle not to do, which made her feel like a big hypocrite) and then she got in the car with that maniac and—well, it was most definitely a long day. Vaguely, she wondered if she would be so tired if she hadn’t been bleeding for most of the day.

“You’re a stuntwoman?”

Despite having only heard it for the first time that day, Mulan didn’t think she could ever forget that voice. She turned around slowly, almost hoping she was imagining things but, sure enough, there was the same tracksuit in front of her.

“A stuntwoman, actually,” she replied, moving to walk past her. Maybe if she ignored her like before, she’d just go away. She caught sight of one of the people in charge of costumes and walked up to them, holding out the articles in her hand. “I need to return this. Where should I go?”

The lady took it from her without a word, looking it over critically. “There’s blood on this,” she griped, glaring at Mulan. “Ah, it’s expensive leather, too.” She turned and walked away, muttering under her breath.

“I’m sorry,” she called after her. She thought she had gotten it off, but apparently she had missed a spot. She turned back around toward the exit and almost ran into that maniac from earlier—which, she noted, was getting increasingly obnoxious to think. Why couldn’t she have just given Mulan her name? It would make everything easier. Well, she decided, she’d just have to deal with being thought of as that hick girl; which probably wasn’t easier to say at all, but it definitely made Mulan feel better.

“Did you find Tamara?” She asked courteously as she passed by.

Aurora fell in step beside her. “Thanks to you.” She shoved her hands in her pant pockets and looked at her from the corner of her eye. “But you do quite an interesting job. Is it that you’re not academically bright? Is that why you do such strenuous work?” It was the only explanation she could come up with as to why such a (reasonably) attractive person would choose something that required physical labor as opposed to something with a higher salary.

Not-Tamara (she should probably get her name, but this level of anonymity was actually kind of nice, and Aurora wanted to keep it as long as possible) stopped, Aurora following suit.

“Are you curious? Should I tell you?” Not-Tamara asked, smiling in such a calculated way that Aurora was suddenly unsure as to whether or not she really wanted an answer. “It comes in handy at times like this.”

Times like this? What could she— A sharp pain flared up her shin. She reflexively reached down to grab it, her hand brushing against the shoe being retracted. She just _kicked_ her! Aurora added that to the list of things done against her that day: first being tricked, then touched, and then kicked. It was most definitely not her best day and she suddenly wished that she had kept leaving instead of turning around and waiting for that enigma of a woman to finish up for the day.

Mulan turned and walked away, feeling oddly victorious. A feeling that was quickly overpowered by the agony trailing up her arm. Shit, she must have twisted it open when she kicked her, somehow. She reached up her arm to cover the area, her fingers coming into contact with dried blood already coating her sleeve. She really hoped that she could wash it all out when she got home, or else her favorite jacket would be ruined.

“What the hell! You—You kicked me! Why?” Aurora shouted after her, trying to limp the same path and catch up. 

“Why do you think?”

Aurora could only just barely hear her. 

“I really was asking out of curiosity!” She swore, gaining speed as the twinges began to fade. “Why resort to violence? I’m really not the type to look down on someone who isn’t well educated!” She took a step too long and bent over to grasp at the spasm that travelled up her leg.

“How noble of you,” Not-Tamara retorted wearily. “Be lucky I hurt my arm today, or else you’d be dead.” 

“You think I’m a fool? You think I don’t know that’s makeup?” She was only a few steps behind her now.

“It’s not makeup.” The world was spinning for her a little, making her speech slightly slurred.

“Not makeup my ass,” Aurora snorted. “If you don’t want to see my lawyer for assault, you better—” She happened to look at the ground just then, and the rest of her sentence cut off. There was a small trail of blood, mostly droplets, but some larger pools that showed the way to Not-Tamara. Her face drained of color. It wasn’t makeup. Shit, shit, shit. Not only had she been rude, but the person to whom she was uncouth was injured and bleeding at a not-good rate. Fuck.

There was a stone in her stomach as she watched her walk away, too stunned to move. She noticed, just then, the way she held her arm tightly against her side, the way her knuckles were white with exertion, how she leaned in toward her injured side just so; her steps were slightly stuttered and uneven in spacing.

Aurora practically darted after her to catch up, ignoring the way her shin seized in protest and her face contorted at the pain. It was nothing compared to the injury causing so much blood to come from the woman in front of her. She grabbed her on her uninjured arm as carefully as she could and turned her toward her.

“Did you really get hurt?” She pressed, concerned. 

Mulan looked around in worry, hoping none of the crew around them would notice. They hadn’t paid attention to when she kicked her, but she couldn’t be too cautious.

“Be quiet,” she hissed.

“Let me see.” The hick girl grabbed the collar of her jacket and used it to pull the sleeve down from the cut.

Mulan refused to look down at the injury, already knowing how it looked. It had ripped during the fight scene earlier but was no longer bleeding when she had changed out of her costume later, only to reopen when she kicked that hick girl in the shin. She could feel the rivulets trailing down her arm as she walked, and knew it had reopened and was most definitely a pretty sight.

“What are you doing? Let go!” Her voice was weaker than it should have been, too busy trying to focus her swimming vision on the perfect hair directly in front of her face.

“Are you crazy?” Aurora thundered, looking up at abnormally pale features. “In this state, you went with me and then did all that action earlier?” She exhaled harshly through her teeth. “Are you nuts? Are you stupid?” She released the jacket her hand had remained on and used to lightly poke Not-Tamara in the head. “It’s obviously true you’re not bright.” Except—

Aurora reached up again and pressed the back of her hand firmly against Not-Tamara’s forehead. Sure enough, it was warmer than normal body temperature, and she refused to attribute it to the exertion she had done earlier. She brought her hand to rest against her neck to make sure, her other following suit.

“And you’re burning up!” Of all the stupid, insane things—

“Get your hands off of me!” Mulan shrieked, using her uninjured arm to swat the hands away from her. She pulled her jacket back up to hide the blood and turned to leave. She only got a few steps away before the world turned and she had to throw her arms out for balance. She gasped at the habitual movement when it merely exacerbated it.

“You’re coming with me,” Aurora hissed, grabbing onto her free arm and leading her away.

All Mulan could really remember on the walk from there to the car was that the hick girl’s touch was much softer than her tone, and that she smelled nice.


End file.
